A Touch Too Much Read online

  Theresa Glover

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Falstaff Books

  About the Author

  1

  Miracles happen every day. Like hearing Agent Hardin over the bounty of mouth-watering Cajun specialties spread before me. Boudin balls. Steaming gumbo. Étouffée and red beans and rice. Jambalaya. Gator bites.

  Okay, so “gator bites” challenged my sense of culinary adventure, but the rest smelled like heaven and tasted like sin.

  Or that’s what Sister Betty said.

  She sat across from me at the scarred table in the tiny, dark restaurant. In her gray t-shirt and jeans, her red hair restrained in a ponytail, she looked nothing like a nun. With eyeliner and some quality time with a hair straightener, she’d pass for Scarlet Witch, or at least the dressed-down movie version. Lack of reality-warping powers did nothing to lessen her influence, though. More than once, my beloved, badass mentor took advantage of her long legs to kick me in the shins when my mouth emptied enough to get me in trouble.

  Marty, my partner and friend, delighted in every yelp, despite the retribution my glares promised.

  “Agent Hardin,” I began, but lost the thought as my fork hovered in indecision over the plates cluttering the table’s center.

  “Please,” the federal agent, who looked more like an aging accountant, covered his mouth and swallowed, “call me Cooper.”

  I nodded with a half shrug, wondering how many of his colleagues in the Department of Extra-Dimensional, Magical, and Occult Nuisances had the same privilege. He didn’t seem like the type of person comfortable with others using his first name. Including his parents. Hell, he might have been born in a three-piece suit. Biting back the urge to laugh, I continued. “Cooper, while I appreciate the offer, I don’t hunt monsters for money. Or status, so you can stop pushing. Like I told you this morning when you woke me up,” I added a little extra emphasis to hint how much he’d endangered his well-being by calling without an imminent threat, “I’m here for vacation. To rest. To take a break.”

  And so much more than that. To think. To get my messed-up head on straight. So much had happened recently, it left me wrangling my figurative demons as I hunted and slayed literal ones. Superficially, it was simple. Find monsters. Kill monsters. Sometimes, for a select few, catch and re-home them. Above all, protect people. The last couple of jobs, however, had me questioning, well, everything. Sure, I hunted monsters. Caught some, fought more. Some memorable kills even made fine storytelling over a beer and a good meal.

  What bothered me was how hard I’d failed lately. I needed time to figure out what the hell happened and then figure out how to get back to not sucking. I’d started working for the Holy Roman Catholic Church out of defiance, to make a stand and protect those who needed it most. It still got me out of bed after a rough night, but somewhere along the line, fighting the things that made midnight snacks of humans got…fuzzy. Complicated. And complicated became confusing.

  I glanced at Sister Betty, her arm draped across her body, hand hovering over the fresh stitches in her side where she was wounded as we tried to take down Father Robicheau, the former priest of St. Louis Cathedral and murderous human monster masquerading as a colleague. She laughed at something Marty said, but his bruised head distracted me, a souvenir from hunting another monster. Creature. Whatever.

  Not even my closest friends stayed safe on my watch.

  If those I cared about most weren’t safe, was anyone? And if they weren’t, what was I doing? What was the point? If I couldn’t protect people, why pretend to be something I wasn’t? Why set myself apart as some kind of protector of humanity if I couldn’t be what they needed?

  All eyes fell on me, and I laughed along with whatever joke I missed.

  The incident in Rome hadn’t started this weird downward spiral, but nothing had felt right since I watched that woman die because I failed to save her. I remembered her face and the snap of her bones in the monster’s teeth. Her voice still echoed through my dreams.

  It wasn’t the first time someone had died in front of me, nor was it the most gruesome death I’d witnessed. In fact, it reminded me of the night that set me on this path, familiar in a fucked up way I didn’t want to examine too closely, but after her death, everything seemed to go wrong. I’d intended to use this trip to sort through it all, starting with Rome, and decide if I still wanted this crazy monster-hunting gig. Decide if I could handle it long-term.

  Then, life happened, culminating, at least recently, with the mysterious man in the New Orleans airport and his victim. Even a child recognized the monster for what he was, but I didn’t act in time to prevent him from touching the stranger in the suit, killing him instantly. I could have acted, but I failed. The job retrieving the Black Dog for Helen, also known as the Norse goddess of the underworld, Hel, started and ended…hinky. I felt like it should mean something, but I hadn’t had the time, brain power, or enough sleep to process it.

  “Miss Kelley—”

  “If I’m calling you Cooper,” I jabbed my fork into a shrimp curled around a slice of andouille sausage from the jambalaya, “you should call me Caitlin.” I stuck both in my mouth with a groan of satisfaction. Traveling with my foodie friend and partner destroyed my assumptions about the culinary reputation of New Orleans. If I’d known the transcendental food wasn’t hyperbolic rumor, I’d have visited years ago and maybe enjoyed the city instead of being pressed into immediate monster hunting service.

  “I know you work for the Catholic Church. We’re not trying to interfere with that at all.” Cooper flashed a grin at Father Callahan, the priest who’d orchestrated my current career after my younger sister’s death. “And, Father, don’t hold the department’s nickname against us.”

  Father Callahan nodded charitably and chewed, reaching for a piece of cornbread. Sister Betty passed him the honey butter and received muffled thanks in exchange.

  During my training, neither Father Callahan nor Sister Betty specifically discussed the Department of Extra-Dimensional, Magical, and Occult Nuisances. Oblique references to potential government help in particularly nasty situations came up, though both encouraged me to focus on my own creativity, problem solving, and our immediate resources. I’d never even met a member of the no-such-agency comically nicknamed DEMON before. I don’t know when or if I would have if Agent Cooper Hardin hadn’t shown up in the New Orleans Police Department after our scuffle at the Saint Louis Cathedral. Without Cooper flashing his credentials, I might still be in jail.

  Cooper looked at me, expectant.

  I only opened my mouth to shove in more food.

  Hardin’s fork clinked against his plate. His smile vanished as he folded his arms on the table and leaned forward. The overhead light gleamed on his forehead. On most of his bald head. “You’ve never declined a mission before, so how about you cut the bullshit and tell me what you’re holding out for?”

  The low buzz of chatter in the crowded restaurant roared up around our silent table. Sister Betty and Marty stared him down. Father Callahan stopped, mid-bite, a drop from his spoon splashing on his plate.

  Despite the pressure of their wordless condemnation, Agent Cooper Hardin didn’t squirm. His disturbingly blue eyes focused on me, and I stared back, neither of us willing to look away first. “Well?” he asked.
“What’s your price, Caitlin?”

  I set my fork on my plate and sat back, twisting to rest my elbow on the back of the chair. “That’s a pretty crass question, don’t you think?”

  “It’s business. I assume this is your tactic for negotiating your role with,” he glanced over his shoulder, “our department.”

  “I don’t have a role with your department,” I said. “The Church hired me. The Church pays me. If I decide to negotiate a role with your department,” I enunciated the word, “I won’t take the coward’s way out.”

  Marty and Sister Betty’s simultaneous warning of “Cee” and “Caitlin” sounded something like “Ceelin.”

  I ignored them.

  Agent Hardin sat back, folding his arms across his chest, the hint of a smirk tugging his lips. “Just remember I didn’t call you a coward.”

  “I didn’t call myself a coward, only the so-called tactic you’re accusing me of using.”

  “What’s your deal, Miss Kelley?” He emphasized the formal use of my last name.

  The vague tingle of compulsion prickled my skin. Everyone could probably hear my teeth grinding as my jaw clenched, yet I counted to ten and forced myself to relax. “I don’t have a ‘deal,’ Cooper. I told you, this is supposed to be my vacation.”

  “Which you’re choosing over the lives of innocents.”

  “Even on the airplane, they instruct you to put on your own mask before helping others.”

  Hardin’s lips twisted into a sour little frown.

  Checkmate, dude.

  That argument had been key in convincing Sister Betty to cover my responsibilities so I could take this damned trip in the first place, but I was even more proud of it as the electricity drained from the air at the table.

  I picked up my fork, took another greedy scoop of jambalaya, and chewed while I waited for him to answer. His shitty, accusatory question would not ruin my night. Or the food. Nothing short of bands of roving zombies or a feral vampire attack could put me off this manna.

  “Agent Hardin,” Sister Betty said, her voice stiff with diplomacy, “suggesting Caitlin has ulterior motives is tantamount to…to…”

  “Accusing her of extortion,” Father Callahan said.

  The little man unconvincingly dressed for New Orleans in his short-sleeved plaid button-up shirt shifted in his seat. “That’s not what I’m implying.”

  “Then you’re preying on her sense of justice and—”

  “Woah, woah.” Hardin held up his hands. “That’s not what I said.”

  “Then what are you saying?” demanded Sister Betty, cheeks flushed, eyes narrowed.

  “Only that the needs of the community far outweigh the benefits of a vacation, however brief. Lives are at stake. More with every day she refuses to take action.”

  “Your department’s trying to insert itself—”

  “My department’s an ally you need,” Hardin interrupted Sister Betty. “Especially here in New Orleans. As much as you may know about this city, Sister, you don’t know the city. You need experts. I have those experts.”

  “And they’ve done a fabulous job supporting the city’s monster hunter. Oh,” she tapped her chin with a fingertip, “no, wait, that’s not right, is it?”

  Cooper’s face burned bright red at the allusion to Sister Evangeline, the city’s previous hunter. Her death left a void I’d had to fill as soon as I touched down, including taking down her killer, Father Robicheau, the priest assigned to help her. Now, a federal agent was trying to push me into her role officially and complete a job they hadn’t been able to. “If you prefer, I’ll leave.” He pushed away from the table.

  I didn’t say anything. Watching him squirm amused me enough to stay out of trouble.

  “Cooper, sit.” Father Callahan waved at the array of half-empty dishes on the table. “There’s still plenty to eat.”

  Hardin looked at each of us in turn.

  “But cut the accusatory crap.” Marty picked up one of last two boudin balls. “If Caitlin says she needs a break, there’s a reason.”

  My chest ached. We’d never discussed my reasons, but little got by him. Especially when it got as bad as the breakdown that brought Sister Betty across the Atlantic to help me through it. I needed space. I needed time.

  I just couldn’t figure out how to explain it without sounding weak.

  When my thoughts cleared, Sister Betty, Marty, Father Callahan, and Agent Hardin all stared at me.

  Apparently, I’d missed something. Again.

  “Sorry, what was that?”

  “We’re done discussing work tonight, Cooper.” Father Callahan waved to the waiter and indicated his empty water glass.

  “But the threat—”

  “Will be there tomorrow. It’s too late to start anything tonight anyway.”

  Hardin bristled. “Which is why I tried to start the process this morning.”

  And he had.

  The first time Cooper called, I answered the phone and…expressed my annoyance with being awoken for a chat about my employment status. The second, third, and fourth times Cooper called before I’d hauled myself out of bed, Marty answered the phone. The next call I’d gotten was from Sister Betty telling me she’d agreed for all of us to meet Cooper for dinner.

  I poked at the food on my plate.

  He wouldn’t relent until he got the answer he pursued. Though he certainly didn’t look the part, he was a hunter in his own right. And why not? Monster hunters had to be as slippery as their prey. Maybe more. Maybe protecting the world required this kind of heavy-handed “convincing.” Despite Sister Betty’s assurance that DEMON agents were partners, I couldn’t imagine working like this all the time.

  “Agent Hardin,” Sister Betty said, each syllable over-enunciated, “that’s enough. You’re welcome to enjoy dinner with us, but no more business. If you cannot respect that,” she smiled without humor, “then it’s time we part ways.”

  “It’s not my intention to focus on business,” he said, “only to ensure the vulnerable are acknowledged and protected.”

  “Listen,” I leaned on the edge of the table, “I considered the human cost and arranged for coverage for my responsibilities. If you have concerns about my dedication, I’ll remind you that less than an hour after landing in New Orleans, I’d started chasing monsters. The very monster, in fact, you’re asking me to track down. DE—” I cleared my throat as his eyes widened. “Your department worked this case without success and, while I appreciate your confidence, there’s no guarantee I’ll find it any faster.”

  He stared at me, then nodded. “I’ll take you at your word as long as you—”

  “Dude,” Marty said, “she gets it. Let it go.”

  Hardin stared at Marty.

  Marty stared back.

  In the eternity that passed, I crossed my legs to bring the Derringer hidden in the ankle holster closer. My eyes never leaving Hardin, I released the strap securing it, more for reassurance than preparation for the inevitable explosion.

  Hardin blew a breath through his nose, his shoulders sinking as if deflating. “Fine.”

  The tension drained from the room, and though I expected his capitulation had more to do with being outnumbered than with surrender, if it meant even a temporary reprieve, I’d take it.

  “Hurricanes all around.” I turned and waved at the waiter, taking advantage of the truce, no matter how short-lived it might be.

  Laissez les bon temps rouler, as New Orleans decreed.

  2

  Residual warmth loosened my muscles as I rolled my shoulders against the brick wall and laughed with sheer pleasure for the first time since I’d landed. I felt lighter, freer, though that might have been the alcohol. Cooper had abandoned work talk when the first round of hurricanes made it to the table, inspiring all of us to keep the adult libations flowing. Three rounds in and Cooper excused himself for the night, leaving us to explore the controlled chaos of Bourbon Street and all it had to offer.

  Sister
Betty giggled as her shoulder crashed against the wall beside me, leaning close and raising her voice over the music and tourists. “You’re drunk.” Ribbons of reddish hair escaped her ponytail, framing her face with long, untamed curls. Neon signs reflected multi-colored flashes of mischievous light in her steel-blue eyes.

  All the better to see you…

  “No, I’m not.” The bright, slushy drink in my plastic cup sloshed over my hand. “But even if I was—I’m not, but if I was—what would you do about it?”

  She slid her arm between me and the wall, her hand curling around my waist and making me shiver. “I’d make sure you got back to your room and tucked in. Safe and sound.”

  Night throbbed around us. Competing bass pulsed from the clubs lining the street. Less actual jazz and more thumpa-thumpa dance music. Tourists passed in dazzling waves of sound and motion, light painting their laughing faces the same garish neon colors as the frozen drinks in their hands.

  I looked up at her to regain my balance.

  She grinned at me.

  I grinned back and leaned so close my lips brushed her ear. “Take me home.”

  The city’s rhythm transformed in the dark and made it easy and fun to get lost. Not to mention thirsty work.

  True to her wild roots, Sister Betty steered us in to one last bar “for directions” and shots before we managed to find Royal Street and the doorman under the square, white hotel awning. We stumbled down the street, shoulder to shoulder, propping each other up and singing.

  I pulled my sunglasses down as we crossed the blinding white lobby. “Bright light, bright light,” I squeaked.

  Sister Betty snorted a laugh. “You are such a nerd.”

  “Yeah, but you think I’m adorable.” I laughed, and we both swayed, almost falling in the elevator as the gold doors opened.